


Secret Keeper

by PandaBandit



Series: Not Your Housekeeper (But a Little Bit of Everything Else) [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:14:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandaBandit/pseuds/PandaBandit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. He was Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective and if he wanted to take a secret to his grave then he would take it to his grave. She couldn’t know. Could she?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Keeper

**Author's Note:**

> Writing Sherlock fluff is so hard! *slams head on desk* I don't know. I think this went okay? Well it's up here anyhow. Enjoy :)

“I don’t see why you’re so upset, John; I was doing you a favour, wasn’t I?”

“A fav – ? No, Sherlock that wasn’t – right. I’m going for some air.”

The door slammed behind John before Sherlock could say anything further. The detective stood staring at it for a moment then threw himself down on the sofa with a huff of breath like he was deflating.

“Hoo-hoo!” Mrs Hudson called, “Did I hear John leave?” She tutted. “I hope he brought his coat – it’s a bit nippy tonight.”

“Not now, Mrs Hudson.”

“Oh dear. Did you two have another domestic?”

“Traditionally, Mrs Hudson, two people have to be in a relationship in order to ‘have a domestic’.” Sherlock snapped, curling up on his side on the sofa, face pressed into the back cushions – his soft, squishy first line of defense from the world (when John wasn’t there anyway).

“Yes, Sherlock.” Mrs Hudson replied and bustled off into the messiest kitchen she’d ever seen to fix him a cup of tea – just this once though, she wasn’t his housekeeper.

Sherlock whipped his head around, pulling out of his dark, leathery hidey-hole and his piecing, analyzing gaze followed her movements. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. He was Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective and if he wanted to take a secret to his grave then he would take it to his grave. She couldn’t know. Could she?

She came back in and handed him the tea. And then sat on the arm of the sofa at his feet. She didn’t fuss or complain. She waited. Sherlock shot her a bitter look. She knew. How dare she know? But… as she did, there wouldn’t be any problem with voicing his logic aloud as he did with the Skull or John. An emotional assistant, if you will.

(Sherlock will not. He despised the situation enough already.)

He drew a deep breath, “Pupil dilation, increased heart rate, slight increase in perspiration at prolonged close contact, increased oxytocin and serotonin levels throughout contact – physical and non-physical, increased interest in maintaining personal physical appearance, increased ‘irritability’ at loss of contact – worsening for prolonged loss, increased tolerance with association, displaying signs of jealous and irrational behavior, habitual changes with exterior motivation. Conclusion? I am deeply infatuated with John Watson. Only explanation of all the facts.” His speech was rapid-fire and in the same simultaneously emotionless and excited tone as any other explanation he offered at crime scenes.

He found he couldn’t quite meet Mrs Hudson’s gaze.

“Well, doesn’t that feel better, hm? Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul but I think perhaps when John gets back the two of you should have a little chat.” And she went back downstairs, work done.


End file.
